Letra de Routes - Trapland Pat

(A guy by the name of PepperJack Zoe)

(PepperJack Zoe)

I run the routes like the city transit (Duh-duh-duh)

Just give the route to Trapland, he don't never panic

Stack that money to a comma, then you rubber band it

Just throw the alley to a youngin, watch a nigga slam it

Don't need a drop-top, I'd rather get it Panamera

I seen a square, then I knew just who I want to be

Say you a hustler, then it's best that you get close to me

Come to class, let me school you on that recipe

Been gettin' cheese, so that really ain't a flex to me

Most these niggas sound real, they be so fake

Throw the doggy in the blender like a milkshake

I got exotic, plus you know that I got cheap weight

When I was down bad I couldn't even sleep straight

I'm steady havin' withdrawals, like, who you 'posed to be?

I seen them change, so I cannot let 'em close to me

I hear 'em talkin', but they all just some ghosts to me

Say the fetty all great, but that look dope to me

Cari got a dude slept off the Dom Ps

I could turn from what I had to a nine-piece

Bust down that plain Jane on a timepiece

Traphouse out West, I'm grindin' out East

I could talk numbers with you all damn day

On the grind twenty-four, I'm rockin' Dolce

Keep my poker face on, but, I don't play

I'm at the dock just like a pirate, this a boat day

Saks Fifth, I hit a million on the weekend

I can see that he an actor, he just pretend

Cartier for my vision, he got cheap lens

Couple niggas couldn't swim in that deep end

Couple niggas went left, still got right

Now I board the jet first like top flight

Remember fleein' and eludin' from them cop lights

Sunday nights, we was clubbin', that was chop nights

You was nowhere to be found, you was never 'round

Got zips, QPs, and a couple pounds

.223s, .308s, 5.56 rounds

Knock your ass out of bounds, you won't get found

The right press I'm doin' on them black nights

Ski'd up, know we addicted to that night life

Dressed up for T like I represent that bike life

Best to go and grab that [?][1:55]

I run the routes like the city transit

Just give the route to Trapland, he don't never panic

Stack that money to a comma, then you rubber band it

Just throw the alley to a youngin, watch a nigga slam it

Don't need a drop-top, I'd rather get it Panamera

I seen a square, then I knew just who I want to be

Say you a hustler, then it's best that you get close to me

Come to class, let me school you on that recipe

Been gettin' cheese, so that really ain't a flex to me

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